


Pity

by Hesiones



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 04:08:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hesiones/pseuds/Hesiones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OF my city the worst that men will ever say is this:<br/>You took little children away from the sun and the dew,<br/>And the glimmers that played in the grass under the great sky,<br/>And the reckless rain; you put them between walls<br/>To work, broken and smothered, for bread and wages,<br/>To eat dust in their throats and die empty-hearted<br/>For a little handful of pay on a few Saturday nights.<br/>    -    They Will Say  ♦  Carl Sandburg</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pity

**Author's Note:**

> rinnymcc requested: How about Armin and Annie adopting a dog from a shelter?
> 
> Eh, not my best work, but hope you enjoy! Might edit later...

    In this upper-middle class residential section of town, it’s relatively peaceful. A few women hang up laundry, chat with each other, and mind the babies on their hips, relaxing while the older children are at school and the husbands at work.

     These three weeks are holiday for all trainees. Most of the kids with family go home – all the farmers go home to help with the harvest. The rest stay on the grounds, but are free to do whatever, including go to town in civilian clothes. Of course, chores are still mandatory.

     “Oh!”

     A scrubbing board tumbles into the street from a large basket, piled high with clothing, in the arms of an old woman. I walk over to the side of the street to bend and pick the board up, then approach her.

     “Thank you, dear. Just put it in the basket – I’m just going inside, anyway.”

     “It might fall again. I’ll hold it; would you like me to open the door for you?”

     “Oh, yes please. That would be lovely.” She smiles apologetically, adjusting her grip on the basket. I stride past her to reach the door of her brick townhouse. Using my free hand, I turn the brass knob to open the door. The old lady staggers in, nearly dropping the basket as she sets it down. She hurries over to the door again, smiling gratefully, so I can hand her the scrubbing board.

     Why is she _grateful_?

     “Thank you so much, dear. Here, let me get you something to eat – are you feeling alright?”

     “I’m fine,” I lie, and leave.

     I can’t stand it here. They should be reporting me to the military so that I can be locked up and tortured for information, instead of calling me “dear”.

     Footsteps patter behind me. I turn to face the old woman and her sharp green eyes.

     “Child, at least take this with you.” Her husky voice is low and soft. She presses a bundle of something warm into my hands. “If you need anything, I’ll be here.”

     What she means is that she doesn’t know why I’m unhappy, and I don’t have to tell her, but I can come anytime, if I want.

     I stare at the cloth package that’s nestled in my cupped palms.

     “Thank you,” I manage to say.

     The old lady smiles a little, lays a hand on my shoulder, and heads back to her house.

     I can’t do this.

     What will I be when it’s all over? What will I have become?

     “Annie, hey!”

     My heart jumps like a startled rabbit. I stop walking and turn my head to look at Armin. No need to sugarcoat it – because I like him, I can recognize his voice immediately.

     He hurries down the street to catch up with me. The old lady has just reached her door, but turns to look at us curiously.

     On instinct, I adjust my jacket a little.

     The woman smiles and heads inside, shutting the door.

     I’m glad there are no old women in the training grounds.

     “Armin,” I acknowledge as he approaches.

     I left the grounds at dawn, before most trainees woke up, so I didn’t know he came to town today.

     “Why are you here?”

     “Well,” he begins, “since Eren is sick, and Mikasa won’t leave him, there won’t be much for me to do on the grounds today. I decided to go to town, spend some time in the bookstore. A change of scenery, I guess. There’s got to be more interesting things around here than there are back in the facilities.”

     Today is the second day of holiday. I almost miss the strain of training, now that there’s more time to think about things I don’t want to think about.

     “Mm,” I reply, and we start to walk again.

     “So,” Armin asks hesitantly, “why was that lady talking to you?”

     “She dropped her washboard, so I picked it up. She wanted to give me this.” I lift up the bundle to show him.

     “What’s in it?’

     “Don’t know.”

     I loosen the knots in the cloth to peek at its contents. A warm, comforting scent rises from a batch of child’s-palm-sized baked goods.

     “It smells sweet –wait, these are cookies!” Armin exclaims, leaning over. Close.

     While my pulse trips over itself, I offer the bundle to him. He takes one of the “cookies” and turns it this way and that, finally biting into it tentatively. As he ruminates thoughtfully, the minute movements of his head causes his hair to flash gold in the sun.

     Armin’s noon-blue eyes widen.

     “Some kind of berry – maybe blackberry? And honey! This is pretty sweet!” He sounds ecstatic.

     I pluck out a cookie (never had one, didn’t know what they were until now) from the cluster. Dark purple splotches bloom on a crisp, golden-brown matrix. I nip a chunk out of it, feeling the piece separate from the cookie slowly, reluctantly under my teeth. It’s surprisingly chewy in the center, but in a satisfying way.

     It’s… it _is_ sweet.

     The dough releases a warm tingling sweetness that could only be honey, which I haven’t had since Before. Blackberries grow wild on the training grounds, so I have some of those occasionally, but this – I wish I had a basketful of these. I wish these would last forever.

     I chew slowly, trying to taste each and every particle of cookie that crumbles in my mouth, hanging onto the flavors as long as I can before I have to send them to my stomach, with only the aftertaste to keep me company.

     We amble and eat, savoring the fleeting sweetness. When Armin’s done with his cookie, I wordlessly offer him the parcel again so he can take another one.

     The wind stirs my hair this way and that. As we walk, Armin accidentally brushes against me a few times. We don’t say anything.

     Armin licks his fingers, capturing a few crumbs before they fall onto the cobblestones while I finish off my second cookie.

     “Sweeteners and fruit don’t come cheap these days.” he remarks. “You were lucky to have run into that lady.”

     Armin smiles at me, causing my rabbit heart to leap into my throat. His smiles are all sweeter than all the honey in the world, more beautiful than summer wildflowers, more stunning than sunlight flashing off the deep blue melt-water lake that’s on the training grounds. Armin always makes me feel like smiling and crying at the same time.

     “Thank you for letting me have some of the cookies, Annie. It’s been a long time since I’ve eaten things like that.”

     Almost unable to talk, I give a minute nod.

     “Welcome,” I murmur.

     Armin grasps his hands behind his back. Without a destination in mind, we continue down two more blocks, eating our next sweet slowly.

The people who can still buy honey must’ve been rich before Wall Maria fell.

      Armin keeps flicking glances at me out of the corner of his eye. It’s…

     “Do you want another cookie?” I ask, abruptly fixing him with my own gaze. He gives a start.

     “Oh – um, yes.”

     I take one from the cloth and drop it in his hand, careful not to touch him.

     “Thank you.”

      I allow one corner of my mouth to curl upwards.

     We travel one more block. The third cookie I eat has walnuts instead of blackberries.

     Suddenly, a rush of brown dog speeds toward us, rearing up on its hind legs to place its paws on my black trousers. After the paws slide off, the dog just sits on its haunches, quietly. Like this, it’s tall enough for its head to reach my knees. I’ll need to wash off the dirt when I get back.

     “…this is the third time one of your strays bit my daughter! Keep them under control!” a woman holds a toddler on her shoulder as she confronts an elderly man.

     “I try, but – “

     “The next time one of them so much as nips her, I’ll take a knife to it, you hear?”

     “I understand. I apologize for – “

     “You’ve apologized enough. Make them behave or take them away.”

     The woman strides away. The old man closes his eyes for a brief moment.

     “Excuse me, sir?” Armin speaks up. “Is this your dog?”

     The elder turns his head to look at us.

     “Oh, yes. Sorry, could you bring her here?’

     “Of course.”

     Armin starts towards the old man, clicking his tongue so that the dog begins to trot after him. I follow at a distance, but stop a meter or two away when they reach the senior.

    “Thank you. I apologize for the, ah, conversation you had to hear.”

    “No, I understand. You take in strays?”

    “Ah, yes, I do. I’m fond of them.”

     He chuckles ruefully, scratching the head of the dog.

     “I suppose there are better causes to donate my time and money to, like the Wall Maria refugees, but no one feeds the dogs anymore.”

      “I understand.” Armin says. “How many do you take care of?”

      “Oh, they come and go, but the regulars number about… ten, I suppose.”

     “That’s a lot to handle. Do they get into trouble frequently?”

     “Not too often, but enough to warrant complaints.”

     “Do you have a dog that can catch rats?” I ask suddenly. Both their heads turn in my direction.

     “Pardon?” the senior inquires.

     “Do you have a ratter?”

     “Why yes, in fact I do. I believe she’s inside my house right now. She’s a regular, though she’s perfectly fine off eating whatever she catches.”

     He considers me, playing with the brown dog’s long ears.

     “Would you like to see her?”

     I nod. He straightens up.

     “Then would you two wait here while I bring her out?”

     “Sure,” Armin responds, curiosity subtle in his eyes, though I can’t tell if it’s about the dog, my motives, or both. Probably both.

     “I will be back in a moment with her.” The man, his crows-feet crinkling with a smile, pats his leg as he ambles toward his house. The dog follows at his heels.

     When the door clicks shut, Armin redirects his attention to me.

     “Mice and rats do keep eating up our food stock. We don’t have to feed her if she catches her own food, too.” he comments. “Is that right?”

     I raise my eyebrow, strolling over.

     “Yeah.”

     Armin flashes me a brief smile. The door opens again, and the old man steps out, holding a small dog in place of the dog that went in. Her forest-dark back gives way to a white underside. Though her eyes are alert and her large, triangular ears twitch, her mouth stays closed.

     “She’s very well-behaved for a stray,” the senior tells us as he approaches. “Dogs like her are calm, though sensitive.”

     She observes us quietly from his arms, eyes liquid earth in the sun.

     “Would you like to hold her?” he offers.

     “Yes.” I answer. He transfers her gently into my arms. She sniffs at my bundle of cookies while Armin reaches close to pet her.

     “She’s well groomed for a stray,” he notes. The older man chortles.

     “That would be my doing.”

     “Can we keep her?” Armin queries.

     “Of course. I’d be grateful if you could take her in. That is, will your parents allow it?”

     “We’re military trainees; the officers will let us keep her as long as she doesn’t cause any trouble.”

     “Ah. Well, I don’t name my strays, so she’s all yours.”

     While he gives Armin a simple rope leash and instructions, I rub the dog’s head absentmindedly. After Armin fastens the leash around her neck, I set her on the ground. She’s pretty lithe.

     A minute or two, and we’re heading back to the main road out of town. Armin and I nibble at another cookie. The dog keeps a steady gait in front of us.

     “What should we name her?” Armin wonders, chewing.

     “Elenor.” I answer immediately.

     “The regular spelling?”

     “Without the ‘a’.”

     “That’s a nice name.”

     Somehow, I feel better offering kindness to a dog. Though I owe more to humans. Though titans don’t eat dogs.

                    Perhaps it’s because Titans don’t eat dogs.


End file.
